


A Spanish Inquisition

by redreaper86



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: Interrogation, M/M, Non-Consensual Tickling, Older Man/Younger Man, Salazar is a sadist, Tickle torture, Young Hector Barbossa - Freeform, and a softie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:09:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26641975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redreaper86/pseuds/redreaper86
Summary: Captain Salazar interrogates Hector Barbossa, using a relatively painless, but still effective method to elicit answers from his young pirate captive.
Relationships: Hector Barbossa/Armando Salazar
Comments: 13
Kudos: 20





	A Spanish Inquisition

As a devout Spanish Catholic, Captain Armando Salazar never allowed his men to utter so much as a single obscenity aboard his beloved warship, the _Silent Mary_ , let alone such a volley of filth that this young pirate was spewing now as he struggled in the iron grasp of two of his strongest men. This prisoner, the son of Fredrick Barbarossa or Redbeard, had been captured from the English pirate ship the Red Cobra and was the only one they had left alive for questioning. 

“ _Madre de Dios_!” laughed the Spaniard, gazing down on the irate youth with something very like affection in his fine black eyes -- an expression that many of his victims had mistaken as mercy to their subsequent regret. “You really are a vile little cur, aren’t you, _hombre_?” 

The ‘cur’ in question confirmed this by spitting at him and missing, for despite his size, Salazar had excellent reflexes so when he stepped back, graceful as a dancer, the wad of spittle splattered on the previously immaculate wooden floor of his beautiful but austere captain’s cabin.

“ _Puto_!” Lesaro backhanded the youth across the face, causing him to go limp in his captors’ grasps, while yet another soldier knelt down and energetically wiped the floor.

Salazar observed the latter with lazy amusement for a few seconds before he grew impatient. “Enough. Lay the boy down on my desk, _por favor_.” 

Lesaro strode forward and in a few swift efficient seconds had the desk cleared off. The two burly men hoisted the unconscious youth between them, laid him on the desk and bound his wrists and ankles with rope and fastened them to the desk.

“Leave us.”

The noise of the cabin doors closing sounded like nearby thunder to Hector’s disorientated mind. Someone was patting his face, trying to wake him up.

“Where the hell am I?” Hector groaned. “Why can’t I move?” -- with every question his voice became more and more agitated -- “What the fuck have you done to me?!”

“How about I ask the questions, _amigo_?” a deep, heavily accented voice chuckled indulgently, not backing off in the face of his vehemence. “And let’s watch the language, shall we?” here he was tapped playfully on the nose, an action that should have clued him in that his captor was not your usual, run-of-the-mill, torture-happy inquisitor. “What is your name?”

Hector blinked and a swarthy, brutally handsome face appeared in his field of vision. “Hector Barbossa.” he said, too dazed for any belligerence.

“Héctor…” the Spaniard drawled. “Do you have any Spanish blood?”

“Portuguese.” Hector answered, then winced as he realized he probably should have lied. Seeing the amusement glinting in the older man’s eyes he also came to the conclusion that the Captain was thinking the exact same thing.

Chuckling, the Spaniard turned away to look over a small table of sinister-looking metal instruments.

“So what.” Hector demanded, twisting his head to see. “Yer a-planning’ to torture me, then?” he cackled. “Good luck with that.”

The Captain cocked his head with his back still turned. “You’ve endured a lot of pain in your short life, haven’t you, hombre?”

“More than ye have, that’s for sure.”

In a split second, the Spaniard whipped around and was looming over him. “You know nothing of me, or what I have suffered.” His face, formerly twisted with rage, now softened with a mocking smile. “But I am inclined to know the extent of your pain.” He reached over and began unbuttoning the youth’s doublet. “Only someone with something to hide would wear this many layers in the Caribbean heat.”

When he pulled the doublet and shirt aside, his dark eyes widened at what he saw. Experienced inquisitor that he was, even Salazar had not seen such a myriad of irregular scars criss-crossing each other on someone still so young. 

“How did this happen?” he asked.

“Keelhaulin’.” the boy answered nonchalantly. “From me navy days. Happened more’n once.”

“Why?”

“The captain had it out fer me. Didn’t like me much,” he clarified as the Spaniard frowned. “I refused his -- shall we say ‘romantic?’ -- advances once in a rather forceful manner -- forceful, meanin’ I gouged one of his eyes out.” 

“ _Dios mio_.”

“Aye, that’s what he said, more or less,” Hector went on, enjoying the look on the Spaniard’s face, which he mistook for horror on the captain’s part. “I should have sliced his pizzle off, but at three and ten I was too small and not trained to take him in a fight so I ran as soon as I was free of him.”

“You were a child?” Now it was outright disgust on the Spaniard’s face. “ _Mérida_! The English are disgusting!” 

“Who be a-cursing now?” Hector couldn’t help but laugh at the look of abject revulsion on the Spaniard’s face. At least he was disgusted at the right people. 

Once again, the Spaniard’s face transformed from rage to amusement, both emotions doing wonderful things to his wolfish good-looks. “Ah, yes. I was supposed to be questioning you about the location of the pirate stronghold. Where is it?” 

“I ain’t tellin’.”

“I have ways of making you tell me, you know.”

“Oh, aye, by carvin’ me up with yer cutlery set over there,” Hector sneered. He opened his blue eyes very wide in an expression of mock terror. “I be shaking in me boots. From laughter! Ha, ha, ha!”

The older man watched this theatrical display with naught but a tiny smirk playing about his sculpted lips. “You certainly do like to laugh,” Salazar commented when Hector had finished his. “I wonder how you would feel if you had no choice in the matter.”

Hector was only half-listening and so didn’t register the threat lodged in this seemingly harmless remark. “No choice in what matter?”

“Laughing, of course.” Salazar gave a slow dangerous smile. “Are you ticklish?”

“Wha --” Hector blinked at him. Then he snorted. “Really? That’s yer big threat?”

“You would be surprised how effective an interrogation technique tickling can be.” Salazar replied. “The Inquisition employs this method all the time on stubborn prisoners. So. I’ll ask once more: where is the pirate stronghold?”

“And I’ll inform ye once more: I ain’t tellin’.”

“Suit yourself.” Salazar shrugged and delved all ten of his fingers into both sides of Hector’s ribcage, an action that had spectacular results as the latter squawked and arched his back.

“Hmm! It looks as though you are ticklish after all, amigo! Are you willing to co-operate now?”

The captive answered this with a torrent of laughter-laced profanity.

“I’ll take that as a ‘no,’” Salazar clicked his tongue remonstratively, his hands crawling like huge five-legged spiders up to Hector’s armpits, which were, of course, fully exposed as his own arms were fastened above his head. 

“No-no-no-no-NO!” Hector cackled, writhing in vain. “Pleahease, I cahan’t tehell!” 

“You can’t?” Salazar teased, gently scratching at Hector’s armpits, only the thin fabric of his shirt between them and the Spaniard’s blunt, immaculate nails. “Or you won’t? Which shall it be, hombre?”

“Gah-ha-ha, I cahan’t!” Hector all but shrieked as Salazar maneuvered his fingers up to the youth’s neck to scrabble them there. “’Tis agaihainst the Code!”

“Oh, your _code_.” Salazar sneered. “Don’t get me started on that. You pirates are funny, with your ‘code’ of supposed honour. Honour only when it suits you, eh? The rest of the time you are happy to pillage, plunder, murder and ravish?” here the Spaniard slowed the tickling down a bit, gently scouring his nails over Hector’s collarbone.

The young pirate gasped in air gratefully. “Most…of us aren’t…like that…”

“Oh no?” Salazar said. “Tell me then, what are they like? Do they all dress as ridiculous as you?”

“Oi!” Hector snapped. “I’ll have ye know I paid a hefty sum fer these clothes --”

Salazar interrupted him with a mocking laugh. “With stolen money, you little peacock! And it’s not as though you would be much to look at if you actually dressed well, but just look at some of these pieces! These ludicrous trousers --” here he squeezed Hector’s knees, causing him to screech and kick, “-- are a century out of fashion! And this hideous yellow sash --” here he seized Hector’s waist, digging his fingers in and wriggling them to disastrous effect, “-- serves absolutely no purpose, it just looks ugly. And what is this horrible thing dangling from your ear?” here he poked at Hector’s ear causing the youth to squeal and shrug up his shoulder.

“I killed a crocodile once.” Hector said, struggling to keep a straight face at the Spaniard’s outraged tone. “This be one of the beast’s fangs.”

Salazar closed his eyes, cocked his head to the side as though he couldn’t possibly believe what he had just heard. Hector had to look away for fear of laughing outright.

“You have a dirty tooth attached to your ear.” the Spaniard said, deadpan.

It was too much. Just too much. Hector knew that he would regret goading the older man but he just couldn’t help himself.

“Aye, that I do.” Hector said, allowing his amusement to bleed into his voice. “And I wasn’t aware, captain, that ye were my mother.” 

Sparks of playful malice danced in Salazar’s black eyes. “Is that so?” he said, his deep voice velvet smooth and deceptively pleasant as his fingertips gently flickered at the youth’s fluttering belly; a taste of what was to come. “Well, if you are going to act like a child, my little peacock,” here his large hands took hold of Hector’s narrow midsection, just underneath the ribcage, “I am going to treat you as such.” And then he burrowed his fingers in.

Hector, squawked, cursed, writhed and, of course, laughed, all the while the Spaniard was teasing him mercilessly: “What do we have here? A little baby pirate!” and other equally mortifying taunts as every one of his powerful digits prowled over Hector’s slender torso, prodding between his ribs, skittering over his stomach and worst of all, delving into the hollows of his hips. At the last one, Hector fairly screamed with mirth, flung his head from side to side quite violently, so that once again Salazar slowed the torture to see if his captive was alright.

Long auburn hair lay over the boy’s face where it had been tossed, strands were draped over his eyes and caught in his mouth, and he was still shaking with silent laughter. When Salazar hooked his fingers through the errant locks in an effort to clear them from Hector’s face, the latter squealed and whipped his head away, trying to shrug his shoulders but his arms were tied down.

“Hold still, _mijo_ , shh, shh,” Salazar cooed, holding Hector’s head while he pushed the russet hair back out of his face. “You ready to talk now, eh?”

Hector nodded weakly.

“Yes?”

Hector gave the coordinates for the Devil’s Triangle -- an outright lie. Thankfully, the Spaniard bought it.

“There now,” Salazar smirked as he tucked a stray hank of hair behind Hector’s ear (the one with the tooth-earring) causing the latter to shrink away with a groan. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”


End file.
